By Their Riding
by The Darkest Riders
Summary: "They create the terror, by their riding..." Sixteen year-old Will Stanton thought his world was back to normal, it turned out that it was anything but. There is a new evil influence not of this world, resurrecting old terrors. DiR/LotR crossover. R/R
1. Prologue: Moonlight and Shadows

Disclaimer: Susan Cooper owns all Dark is Rising characters, JRR Tolkien owns all LotR characters. Plot belongs to the authors.  
  
Prologue: Moonlight and Shadows  
  
Will Stanton awoke suddenly from a dream.  It had been 5 years since the joining of the signs but that never stopped the dreams.  The Riders had been quiet for years, but his dreams were becoming more intense.  
  
In this dream the ice blue eyes of the Darkest Rider flashed in a fury blinding him, but not before he saw other Riders with no faces.  Lately he had been dreaming of a world he had never seen before and to an Old One their dreams always meant something.  
  
  It had been many weeks since Will had last heard from Merriman and he feared that something Dark lurked in the horizon.  Staring out of the skylight in his room he stared up at the stars.  The night was a time of darkness but the stars and the moon lit up the sky making it all the more friendly.  A dark cloud suddenly blocked the full moon filling his room with darkness.  An image of a horse popped into his head with a Rider in tow.  This wasn't the normal rider he was accustomed to seeing.   
  
He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined himself surrounded by light and whispered an incantation.  The moon was uncovered and shined brightly again.  Breathing a sigh of relief he brushed his hair off his forehead and fell back asleep to a dream of the sunrise.  
  
A/N: Expect the first full chapter in a few days. Yes, there is a plot, for those of you who have been wondering. 


	2. The Finding

The sun shone down on the cold earth, as if promising that the world would see   
more of it in the future. Early buds were clinging to the limbs of the trees, as if daring the   
cold to try and freeze them. Will Stanton and his elder brother Paul were walking down   
the streets of Eton from the bus stop to their father's jewelry shop, as if they hadn't a care   
in the world.   
In a way, they didn't.   
They were ordinary boys, one spending his last school year before college at   
home, and the other waiting for the chance to get his driver's license. Paul had applied to   
Oxford, had been accepted, and was due to start there in the fall. Will had just turned   
sixteen in the previous winter, and he wanted to spend some time with Paul before   
another of his brothers left home. That was also partly due to the fact that Paul had   
agreed to help teach Will how to drive. Now that Will was old enough, he could take the   
test and get his license. Will had wanted to take his driver's test right away, but his   
parents had said that he should wait and practice for a few months before taking it. He   
privately disagreed, but he let his parents have their way. He was barely sixteen anyway.  
It was true that Will was one of the immortal Old Ones of the Light, who had the   
task of saving the world from the Dark, and therefore was far older than sixteen years old,   
but he wasn't thinking of that at the moment. For now he was just a boy.   
  
They were laughing at some joke Will had made as they stopped at the front door   
of their father's shop. Will brushed his windblown brown hair out of his eyes and saw   
the "Closed" sign on the door.   
Paul frowned, "He said he'd be working late today, so why'd he close up?"  
Will shrugged. "I dunno. Mum said if we came up here he'd let me drive home.   
Let's go around back and see if he's there."  
They walked around the side of the store to the back entrance, and Paul jumped to   
reach the key hidden above the doorframe. They let themselves in to the storeroom, and   
found their father looking through a jeweler's glass, holding close a fragile-looking   
necklace, set with diamonds and a blue stone that Will guessed must be an aquamarine or   
a very light sapphire.   
"Hey Dad," said Will. Their father looked around at them and smiled.  
"Hello, boys." Said Mr Stanton. "I thought I had told your mother that I would be   
staying late tonight. Did she forget and send you two to collect me?"  
"Not really," said Paul as he put the key back into its hiding place above the door.   
"She mostly sent us to help you hurry along what you've been doing, and to let Will   
practice driving on the way home."  
"Heaven forbid," said their father, grinning at Will. Will grinned and started to   
say something sarcastic in reply, but something made him stop.  
The light, silvery music lasted only a moment, and was gone before Will could   
properly catch it. But that moment was enough to let him know that something was   
going on. Something was going to happen, or just had. Merriman had said that the Dark   
could no longer influence the world, what else was there for them worry about?   
"Will?" his father's voice was a little concerned. "Are you alright?"  
Will mentally shook himself, and smiled reassuringly. "Yeah, I just felt dizzy for   
a while, might have caught a cold or something."  
"Well, we'll see to it when we get home." Said his father, only slightly   
convinced. He motioned towards the necklace he had been working on, and said, "I   
believe this can wait until tomorrow, so just let me put everything away and we can go on   
home."  
As his father put his instruments and tools away, Will wandered into the front of   
the shop and began looking around the room. Most of the decorations of the room had   
been there as far back as Will could remember, but some were new. He paused for a   
moment at the miniature of the castle salt cellar, which he had always been fond of, and   
then continued around the room.   
One of his father's newer additions to the shop was a stately old grandfather   
clock, which stood aloof in one corner. He had found it at an old antique store in   
London, and had liked it so much that he bought it and had it shipped to his store the very   
same day. Will's father was very proud of it, and thought it made his jewelry store look   
more businesslike. Will hadn't yet gotten the chance to inspect the clock up close, so he   
did so.  
The scroll-work on the clock face was of vines and stylized flowers, intertwining   
around the numbers in random waves. The hands on the clock were fashioned from   
bronze into thin leafy vines, to match the scroll-work. Will checked his watch and   
glanced up at the clock. It had stopped around two and a half hours ago. Will reached up   
to the top of the clock behind its mantle, and found the key to it. It had been a blind   
guess of where it would be, he just guessed that his father would keep the key to this one   
in the same place he kept the key to their clock at home. He placed the key into the fitted   
holes in the face and began turning until he heard a click. He put the key back in its place   
and opened the glass front of the clock to start the pendulum swinging again. Will gave   
the pendulum a slight push and let it swing a while to make sure it would keep going. As   
he was watching it, he noticed a small patch of white among the shadows in the bottom of   
the clock.  
Will reached down into the clock, being careful not to hit the pendulum, grasped   
the piece of paper, and began to pull. It came away easily in his hand, and he held it up.   
It was just a white paper envelope, probably the warranty or something, he thought. Then   
he noticed just how beat up the envelope was. It had burn marks and rips along it, and   
strange marks across one side of it. Will turned the desk lamp beside him on and held the   
envelope close. The marks were letters of some sort. Will was surprised when he   
couldn't read them. An Old One could read any language spoken by human tongues any   
time in history. So, Will thought, this isn't a human language. Now what?  
He glanced furtively over his shoulder at the door to the back room, where his   
father and brother were, hoping they'd stay there for a minute longer. He turned back   
and whispered a word in the Old Speech. The music came again, a bit louder this time,   
as the unfamiliar markings moved themselves, from whatever language they were in, to   
Old Speech. Will read them, and reread them, just to make sure. This didn't make sense.  
  
"…to rule them all, in the land…where shadows fall."  
  
All the rest were lost in smudges and burn marks. Will gave up trying to make   
any use of what they told him, and broke the seal on the envelope. He turned it upside-  
down above his hand and let it open.   
The overwhelming sense of malevolent hatred hit him the instant the cold metal   
ring touched his hand. It was the same feeling he had every time he had faced the Riders,   
of malicious cold, burning into him to seek out his soul and freeze it. He only felt it for a   
second, but it was enough. And what was left was just the ring in his hand.   
It was a thick gold band, with no designs across it, and it had a weight to it that   
told Will that it was solid gold. He could still feel the malice he had felt when the ring   
had first touched his hand, echoing in the back of his mind. He would have to talk to   
Merriman about this later, he thought. He slipped the ring back into its envelope, folded   
it up, and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. He was just closing the glass front of the   
grandfather clock when Paul came in.  
"Will? You ready to go?" he called, then he caught sight of Will. "What are you   
doing there?" He asked.  
"Oh, the clock needed to be wound. I guessed that Dad would keep the key in the   
same place as he does at home." Will said easily.  
"Okay. It'll save him time not having to do it tomorrow." Paul grinned. "He's   
got the car started, if you feel the need to drive."  
"You kidding?" Will said, incredulously. "If we raced, going home from here,   
you'd be eating my dust."  
Paul raised an eyebrow at Will. "Not for long, though. You'd hit the trees not   
long after you hit the road."  
"Very funny," Will said. He leaned over and turned off the desk lamp before   
following his brother out the door.  
  
A/N:: First chapter out, and readers wonder where the heck this story is going.   
Our plan is working perfectly. *Cue Evil Laughter* The next chapter will be out in   
about two weeks. Have a good Spring Break, for those of you who haven't had it yet.   
Disclaimer: LotR characters/ring belongs to JRR Tolkien, DiR characters belongs   
to Susan Cooper. The plot belongs to the authors. 


	3. The Seeking

Will grasped the steering wheel nervously. His father and brother were   
suppressing their proud smiles as Will drove home. Though this was his   
first time driving, he handled it with relative ease. As an Old One he   
had experiences no one in his family could comprehend. Not that it   
helped much when trying not to kill the engine at a stop light.   
Pulling into his family's driveway Paul said, "No dents,   
scratches, or crashes pretty good for your first try. And we're   
alive!"  
"Very funny," Will said.  
"Do you remember your first driving experience?" his  
father asked Paul conspiratorially.   
"No, but I'm sure the tree does," Paul said slightly  
blushing. Everyone broke up in laughter as they walked into the  
house.  
"I'm glad to see everyone made it home in one piece," Mrs.   
Stanton said. Will smiled softly but stopped as he felt cold dread   
wash over him.  
"Something wrong Will?" his mother asked.  
"I'm just feeling a little tired," Will said. "I'm  
going to go up to my room to lay down."  
Walking into his room, he closed the door and took the envelope   
out of his pocket. The strange lettering made him uneasy, but the ring   
itself sent a chill up his spine. An Old One was supposed to know   
every human object made, but this one sent only signals of evil.  
He held it in his hand admiring its simplistic beauty. He picked   
up the ring, having the sudden overwhelming urge to put it on,   
something was willing him to place it around his finger. Before he   
realized what was happening, the ring had slipped around his finger.  
Will instantly knew himself to be invisible, and he was  
transported to a world of shadows. A low mist assembled around his   
feet and all he saw around him were shades of gray and darkness. Nine   
dark figures on shadowy horses rode before him. Will gasped as he   
recognized them. They were the same dark riders from his dreams. He   
couldn't see their faces, but he knew they weren't the riders he knew.   
An even darker, taller figure stood among them.  
"So you have the Ring Old One," the darkest figure said. The   
voice was like silk sliding across ice.  
"Who are you?" Will managed to say.  
"It is of no concern of yours yet," the figure said. "I am   
their darkest Master." He said, gesturing to the Riders. "And I   
guarantee you will see them again."  
They advanced toward him then, their dark steeds rearing and   
pulling at reins that weren't there, and Will frantically pulled at the   
ring. It was hard to pull off but Will succeeded, and reappeared back   
in his room. He put the ring shakily back in his pocket and breathed a   
sigh of relief. He had to find Merriman. And soon.  
Back in a realm of shadows and darkness, Sauron  
addressed his servants.  
"It is as I expected. The Ring has passed through the fabric of   
time and dimension. The wizard Gandalf has sent the Ring from our   
world of Middle-Earth to Earth, and it is now guarded by the youngest   
of the Old Ones. You must retrieve the ring. Other servants of the   
dark will assist you if you tell them what is planned. My powers are   
not sufficient enough to exit this realm, but I will be watching.   
These other riders with whom you will work cannot kill those of the   
Light, but can travel in the light as you cannot. You, however, my   
most loyal servants, can kill. Remember this, the light can be your   
downfall but the dark may be your best ally."  
With those words he used what power he had to send the   
Ringwraiths to meet with the other Black Riders.  
  
A/N: Okay, next chapter up! Thanks to all the reviewers for their amazing comments,   
they really make the day seem a lot better. The next chapter…will be up sometime.  
Disclaimer: Dark is Rising Sequence and characters belong to Susan Cooper, and the   
LotR and characters belong to Tolkien, who seems to still collect royalties for his books,   
even though he's dead. Hmmm… No copyright infringement is intended. 


	4. The Alliance

A/N:: Hey, finally a new chapter up. The plot is thickening, for the chef added too much flour to the gravy. This story will get darker as it goes on, so be forewarned. Any problems in this story concerning details such as ages, and stuff like that, will be apologized for before hand (we're sorry, btw).  
  
Disclaimer: The Dark is Rising Sequence (no, not a series) and characters belong to Susan Cooper, who is a genius. And LotR characters belong to JRR Tolkien, who is a genius, but pays too much attention to detail. Plot belongs to the Authors.  
  
The black mist swirled lazily in front of the black-cloaked figure that stood before the nine Ring wraiths. The lone standing figure's stance was of confidence, almost arrogance, but his face hid hints of suspicion around his blue eyes. Without glancing at the other eight wraiths, he stared straight at the Witch-king of Angmar, whose steed was pawing at the unseen ground restlessly in front of the others.  
  
"You have traveled a long way, Brothers of the Dark, from your world of Ea," the Black Rider said formally, his unblinking eyes not moving from where the Witch-king's eyes would have been, had he been of human flesh. The Black Rider's mouth twisted slightly in bitter sarcasm as he went on. "As you can see, we do not have many…hospitalities to offer you here." This failed to illicit a response from the waiting horsemen, so the Rider abruptly asked, "Why have you come here?"  
  
The foremost figure raised his hooded head, and said levelly, "You and your companions have been banished from the Earth."  
  
"We've noticed," the Rider said irritably. The Witch-king went on as if he hadn't heard.  
  
"We have come to take you back." At this, the Rider blinked.  
  
"What? But the Law of the High Mag-" he began suspiciously, but then he said simply, "How?" The shadows beyond the Rider began to move slightly, as if restless to hear what was to be said.  
  
"You may be a Great Lord of the Dark, but you are far from being the only one. Even in your own world. Our Master has sent us with a proposition for you." The Wraith-Lord motioned with his armored hand to the mist between himself and the Rider, and it swirled into solidity, forming a simple ring of gold, floating in the mist. "This is what we seek, as we ever have. We seek it as you seek to twist the Earth for your own designs. But we do not plan to fail, as you did." The Rider's eyes narrowed until they were only bright blue slits in his shadowed face, reflecting light that did not seem to come from anywhere visible. The shadows behind him writhed in seeming fury, slight hissing seeming to come from everywhere at once, though they did not act upon their anger. They waited as the Wraith went on.  
  
"If we are to succeed, we must find it. It was sent into your world by an old enemy of ours, where our Master may not go. He sent us to find you, who can travel in and among the light to aid us in our search. If you agree to join us, we will take you back into this world of yours."  
  
The Rider took his eyes off the mist-ring, and once again looked at the Witch-King. "But why do you need us?"  
  
"You want your revenge, do you not?"  
  
"What does," the Rider's face twisted, "the Light have to do with this?"  
  
The Witch-King motioned again, and the swirling mists took the form of a blue-eyed teenage boy. "The last of the Old Ones has the ring. We will have a hard time locating the ring without your help locating the Ringbearer. We must dispose of him, and retrieve the ring. And you will be able to take revenge for all your lost aspirations of world dominance."  
  
The Rider's fists clenched and his face darkened involuntarily as the apparition of the Signseeker appeared. "And how," he snarled at the Wraith, "do you propose we do that? You know as well as I that our Brethren of this world may not kill. It is the Law. But kill we must, if our revenge is to be taken. If we are to take our revenge, we are to make the last of the Old Ones suffer as we have, kill his hopes and force his mind into the darkness out of Time! There he will stay for all eternity, as we were sentenced to, as the damned blade of that bastard white crow cut a blossom of mistletoe on midsummer's day!" The shadows beyond him were moving fitfully, whispering among themselves, and expressing their fervent agreement.  
  
The Wraith guided his horse around in a circle, quieting it, and said in a commanding voice that matched the Rider's tone for tone. "You will have your revenge, Rider." The Witch-King took his sword out of his scabbard and tossed it hilt-first to the standing Black Rider, who caught it. "That, I believe, will bend the Law a bit in your favor."  
  
The Black Rider examined the black steel of the Nazgul blade, careful not to touch the edge. If it could kill an Old One, it could just as easily kill him. He asked suspiciously, "Will this blade kill the last Old One? The one you name the Ringbearer?"  
  
"Nothing is as simple as all that. But it will accomplish what you wish for, if used right. Our blades do not kill, yet they slowly drain anyone marked by them, of all that makes them living. They enter the shadow world, where they hunger for eternity, for what they will never have again. They become….servants to our Master's will."  
  
A dark grin that held no mirth crossed the Rider's face. He turned back to the shadows, as if waiting for some answer. But the shadows, which had been swirling throughout the conversation were now still, and the whispers were silent. The Black Rider nodded sharply, and turned towards the Wraiths once more.  
  
With great solemnity, he held up the straight black blade to his forehead in a slightly ironic salute, then tossed the sword back to the Witch-King. His face dropped the solemn quality, and said in a quick, decisive voice, "What must we do?"  
  
***  
  
In the attic bedroom that he had slept in for years, Will Stanton tossed and jerked agitatedly in his sleep, muttering anxiously under his breath.  
  
  
  
A/N2:: The next chapter will be up…um…(searches vainly for a word that isn't "soon", then gives up)….soon. 


	5. The Meeting

"…One for the dark lord on his dark throne…" Will muttered as he woke up abruptly. His breathing was heavy, and the raging thunderstorm outside did nothing to quell his fears. Something had happened, he knew it. It was still late at night and the sun's rays were not to appear for hours yet. The shadows in his dark bedroom looked unfriendly, even menacing. He stumbled out of his room after quickly getting dressed. His family was still sleeping; he could hear his brother's snores and his rhythmic breathing from the room to his left.  
  
Will.  
  
"Merriman?" he said aloud.  
  
Speak mentally Will, they are less likely to hear you.  
  
Who Merriman?  
  
The ones of the dark who we thought we had long banished. Your life is in danger, you must leave your house immediately. Or else they will go after your family. Go to the edge of the forest to 3 large stones that seem as though they are jagged edges of mountains. Quickly.  
  
I don't understand.  
  
Just go!  
  
Will ran out of his house. The wind blew his thin jacket and the sound of thunder reverberated in his ears. Lightning crashed all around, illuminating the dark countryside in brief, yet frequent, intervals.  
  
   
  
*  
  
   
  
Dark figures loomed in the distance. Their cloaks billowed every which way around them, yet the wind seemed not to move the statuesque figures. The wraiths seemed not to be bothered by the storm, as if it weren't even happening. They reveled in its quiet destruction as it brought on floods and split age-old trees in seconds. The Black Riders huddled in their robes to escape the wind and driving rain, one of them though held the black Nazgûl blade. His bright blue eyes burned with hatred as he saw the Ringbearer dashing through the storm. He was about to jump on his horse when the witch-king held him back.  
  
"Patience."  
  
The Rider glared at his dark brethren and clenched the sword even tighter in his white-knuckled grip. With a nod from the wraith leader they simultaneously mounted their horses.  
  
"Let's go and retrieve your ring," the Rider with the sword said menacingly, looking forward with anticipation.  
  
   
  
*  
  
   
  
Will was running blindly through the storm. The rain stung his eyes, as the wind blew the rain into him, acting as tiny needles. He was relying solely on his Old One senses to guide him through the raging storm. The sounds of hooves in the distance were his only warning before he slipped onto the ground. A sword swung over him where his head had been mere moments before. Glancing up, he saw it was the Black Rider.  
  
"Impossible," Will murmured in horror to himself.  
  
The Rider's blue eyes stared straight at him, angry that he had missed his opportunity to kill Will.  
  
Will briefly glanced behind him, and saw other Riders closing in. He saw the strange Riders he had first seen in his dreams. He dodged the blade again, using the lightning's flashes as a guide. He was surrounded by darkness and the storm. He ran, barely missing slashes from countless other weapons. Running on pure adrenaline and his senses, he seemed to dance between the Riders, almost anticipating their every move.  
  
The Wraith leader rode up the Dark Rider with his sword, "I will show you how it is done. Then you can do what you will with him."  
  
He rode toward Will, sensing the Ring in his pocket. He went for his heart, the killing blow, but Will, barely missing the sword's edge, quickly jumped out of the way. A bolt of lightning struck the ground between them, and suddenly Will was off to meet Merriman at the speed of light.  
  
The Wraith leader stood on his dark steed as the other Riders rode up to him.  
  
"So, that's how it's done," the Rider said sarcastically. His blue eyes lit up in amusement, "your… skills are not what I expected."  
  
"So quick to judge," the Wraith said. He showed the Black Rider the sword he held, and wiped a small amount of blood off of it. "Revenge may be achieved through death, but it's ultimately how you reach it that makes the difference. One tiny scratch will work to our advantage. This Ring Bearer, Will Stanton as you call him, will slowly fall to the darkness, but not for a time yet. He has yet to realize his wound. You will sense his light fade out, and when you sense it we will find the Ring. And you can kill him properly, so that he will suffer for all eternity, and your revenge will be complete."  
  
"My apologies," said the Black Rider, as though he barely meant it, "I happen to enjoy revenge. It appears that this Old One has gone to meet with others in a place of light magic. I will be patient and await his return."  
  
The Wraith leader and Rider leader nodded in mutual respect as they rode off into the shadows to avoid the rays of dawn.  
  
   
  
*  
  
   
  
Will stumbled to the three stones Merriman had mentioned. He was still exhausted from his encounter with the Riders. Touching each of the stones he sang apart of a song. To anyone else he would be singing a few stanzas from "Greensleeves" in truth it was an Old One chant:  
  
"An Old One weary,  
  
seeking refuge  
  
calls out unto you.  
  
Oh stone of mountain,  
  
daggers of nature  
  
the Light…calls to you.  
  
Sweet, sweet golden Light,  
  
a sign of hope and of the Old.  
  
Light, light oh luminous glow,  
  
I once again seek your radiance."  
  
   
  
His voice sang clear into nature and penetrated all those close enough to hear. The light surrounded the stones and Will. As the light faded, Will was in a Great Hall with shining walls and flickering candles. He walked to a large fireplace, hoping to dry his wet clothes. The fire seemed to grow larger as he approached, puzzling Will until Merriman appeared.  
  
"It is good to see you, Will."  
  
"Merriman, the Riders are abroad again."  
  
"I feared as much. We will have to gather our powers once again to vanquish them."  
  
"It's not that simple Merriman, there are other Riders. Riders I've only seen in visions. They are not like the Lords of the Dark we have faced before, they're somehow more menacing. It seems like they are after something."  
  
"Indeed they are, young Stanton," a wizened voice said behind him.  
  
An old wizard, who seemed to rival Merriman's great age spoke. He carried a wooden staff and his white hair cascaded down his ashy-grey robe.  
  
"Will, this is Gandalf," said Merriman formally, "one of the Light who resides in Middle-Earth, he may have an answer as to who these Riders are."  
  
"They are the Nazgûl." The one called Gandalf said solemnly, "Riders who ride solely for the One Ring and for their Dark Lord Sauron."  
  
Will's hand automatically went to his pocket and pulled out the Ring.  
  
"I have sent the Ring to your world, Will Stanton, so that it may be guarded by one who is worthy. The Ring has chosen you for its dark purpose."  
  
"Wait I don't understand, what's so bad about a Ring?"  
  
"This Ring in particular was crafted by Sauron. He placed his evil power within it. And if He gets His ring, my world and yours will cease to be the places we know now. They will both be ruled with malice, hatred, and evil."  
  
"How do these Riders fit in?" Will asked.  
  
Merriman stepped forward, "Don't you see? They needed a way to come to our world, Will. They enlisted the help of the Riders we've previously faced. They've bypassed the laws of High Magic and have been brought back. Though it is good they cannot kill."  
  
Gandalf said grimly, "They can kill. But only with the blade of the Nazgûl, one cut and the life will slowly drain out of you." The air was still as they absorbed the seriousness of the matter at hand.  
  
Merriman happened to glance at Will's shoulder, then said in alarm. "Will, is your shoulder bleeding?"  
  
"It's just a small cut…" Will stopped short. He touched the small wound gingerly, and a fearful flash of the Rider's eyes appeared in his mind. Evil laughter malevolently echoed in his ears, which only confirmed his worries. Turning to Gandalf, he said resignedly, "How long do I have?"  
  
Gandalf's grey eyes were grave. "You have maybe a week until it fully takes you over and you become like them. Since you are an Old One the effects won't take place immediately."  
  
"Is there any possible way of stopping it?"  
  
"Just one, you must weaken the Nazgûl and the Riders enough to send them back to their realm of shadows; then you must destroy the sword which has caused the wound. Then and only then will you be free on its bonds."  
  
"What about the Ring?"  
  
"You must carry it, guard it. If they get it, they will be free to ride in both our worlds. Be wary of the Riders who can walk in the day, but when night falls or when there are deep shadows, be on your guard. I must return to Middle-Earth now. When the time is right I will return for the Ring, for it is too dangerous in my world to aptly protect it, even with the absence of the Nazgûl."  
  
Gandalf disappeared in a slight puff of smoke. Merriman looked at Will, "You know what you must do, Watchman."  
  
Will nodded his head in determination and disappeared. Merriman bowed his head in sadness, "May the spirit of the Old Ones guide you, Will Stanton."  
  
Will appeared on the road near his house. He looked quickly around to see if anyone had noticed his appearance, then walked slowly back to the house, looking at the sunrise as he went. It's variation of colors intermingling with the clouds was beautiful, yet ominous. *Red in the Morning, sailors take warning* he thought. He touched his left shoulder where he had received the cut. Looking at his house and thinking about his family, he felt like crying. In all his time as an Old One, he had never been this worried about what might happen. Not just his world, but another, were at stake here. And he had his own problems to deal with as well. Would he become merely a shadow of himself, and never again see the Light?  
  
*  
  
The Wraith leader stood with one of the Lords of the Dark in a dark cave. They could see Will as a faint shadow in their minds.  
  
"I can feel the darkness growing," the Wraith said. "He is shrouded in shadow, yet is resisting its influence. He is quite strong."  
  
"Indeed," the Rider replied. "But will he turn?"  
  
"We shall see, in time we shall see."  
  
A/N: Wow, I didn't lie! YAY! The chapter was up soon! The next chapter, don't count on very soon. We hope you liked it, and hope you find it in your hearts to review. And they technically CAN hurt your Will, Arinus,(besides, he's mine!), and I should hope Will doesn't start growing hair all over his feet like Frodo (Will Stanton of Buckland…weird).  
  
And don't worry, Gramarye, your crossovers make up for not liking LotR, we won' shun you for it. Not really, at least.  
  
Disclaimer: Susan Cooper owns Dark is Rising characters, JRR Tolkien owns Lord of the Rings characters. The plot belongs to the Authors.  
  
Dark Doings make the plot go round… 


	6. The Council

A/N:: Okay, next chapter up! *waits for applause, gets none, and shrugs.* In a moment of explanation about the years from the actual Sequence. It has been five years since "The Dark is Rising," and nearly four years since "Silver on the Tree." The prologue reference to 6 years since the joining has been changed. Problem solved.  
  
Disclaimer: Susan Cooper owns Dark is Rising Sequence places and characters. JRR Tolkien owns the One Ring and the Ringwraiths. (does that mean Tolkien is actually Sauron in disguise???) Plot belongs to the Authors.  
  
  
  
Merriman was worried. The fire in the fireplace of the Great Hall was flickering on the verge of going out, and he still had come to no conclusion on what to do. After Will left, he told the remaining Old Ones as much as he dared about the situation. Even among those used to dealing with devious enemies there are those who might show weakness. He told them as much as it was good for them to know. And no more.  
  
He continued to gaze into the flames, his mind flaring hotter than the fire, in search of what could be done. He had been here for hours, and no epiphany had come. Silently he had sifted through the centuries of knowledge that had been gathered throughout his very long life. Nothing like this had ever happened before within his experience. He shook his head slightly; clearing his eyesight of the glazed look he had developed from not blinking for a long time. He stood up abruptly, his mind made up. If he could not find a solution within his memory, he would go to those who probably could.  
  
He strode to the fireplace, willing it to burn brightly. The fire jumped higher, and Merriman thrust his hand above the flame, fingers spread out. The flames reflected brightly in his eyes as his voice echoed around the Hall.  
  
"Take me where the Highest be,  
  
Under rock and over sea,  
  
There the Answers give to me,  
  
To uncover the Light for all to see."  
  
The air around the fire shimmered for a moment, then Merriman turned away. He found himself standing in a Hall not dissimilar to the one he had just left. The only difference was the tapestries on the walls were different, and the mantle above the fire was carved in ornate spirals that made his eyes water. Around him, on a raised circle of stone, were thirteen thrones, though four of them were empty.  
  
"Come in, Light Hawk," a voice rang out. Merriman would have been surprised if the voice had greeted him as Merriman Lyon. In this hall, true names were dangerous things to use. "We understand you have business with us."  
  
Merriman strode forwards, and bowed to each of the figures on the thrones above him in turn, murmuring "M'Lord," or "M'Lady" each time. He knew very few of them by sight, for he had only come here twice before. Each of the figures was wearing a cloak and hood, no two the same colour. The lord in the throne directly opposite him wore pure white, and Merriman knew he was the High Lord. The lady and lord immediately to his right were the other two highest of the Light, one wearing rose, and the other pale gold. Merriman knew that if he were not standing before them, he would be sitting in the throne between the Lady of the Light, and the High Lord.  
  
He also knew who would have been sitting in the other three empty thrones directly to his left. But those lords had been banished five years past, and would not sit there again. The three Ladies to his far right, wearing sea green, deep cerulean, and slight lavender, he did not know. Nor did he know the three Lords to his far left, wearing blood red, ash grey, and dusty brown. They were the Ladies and Lords of the Wild and Old Magics, and each time someone came here, they were different people.  
  
"Lords and Ladies," he began, speaking towards the High Lord in front of him. "I have come to ask guidance from you. As you know, nearly four years ago, the Dark was taken from this world after a great battle with the Light at the tree of life. Now it seems that, with outside help, they have returned to Earth. They have allied themselves with servants of the Dark from another world, and come here seeking to kill one of the Light." He looked around for some sign of reaction, found none, and continued to speak. "It is the law that none of the Dark can kill humans, and we of the Light are immortal, and cannot be killed by mortal means. Those who they have allied themselves with; I believe have the ability to kill anything. Their weapons slowly drain the light out of anyone scratched or injured with one, like a dying fire." One of the Ladies to his right shifted slightly, but said nothing. "They change to mere shades of their former selves, and they will forever serve the shadow afterwards. The light in them is blown out."  
  
There were no echoes from his words, only roaring silence met Merriman's ears, so he continued. "I believe that, in the act of returning to that which they were banished from and accepting help from outside forces, the Riders of the Dark have broken the High Law. I ask that the Council rule that they should be removed from the Earth, to once again be sealed beyond Time." Merriman finished, standing there in trepidation.  
  
The Lord in the white hood stood up. As he did, one person from each of the groups of three stood up with him, representatives from all the worldly magics.  
  
"The Council hears you, and rules thus," they intoned as one voice, "The Circle of the Council is not complete. No accusations can be made without allowing the accused to defend themselves. That to is of the High Law. This Council cannot pass judgment."  
  
Merriman exhaled, noticing for the first time that he had been holding his breath. He had seen this coming. He began to bow again, so he could leave, but another voice came from above him.  
  
"My Lord," said the Lady in the rose-coloured hood, "If this Council cannot give the Light Hawk what he asks, cannot we give him good council on how to reach the ends he seeks?" Merriman did not move from his half- bowing stance, and did not lift his eyes.  
  
The Lord turned to her. "Yes. But we may not give him the answer, for it violates our own Law." The Lady inclined her head in acquiesce, then turned to face Merriman again.  
  
"Light Hawk," said the Lady, talking more to the ceiling than to him, "You must seek your answers among your resources. You will find that the answer will be easily found once you know the manner in which they can be found, the doing will be harder than the answer, and the end will be more painful than any before it."  
  
Before Merriman could straighten up and ask what this meant, he blinked, and was once again standing in the Great Hall of the Light. The only light was given off from the circle of candles on the table, for the fireplace held only cold ash.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Will? You alright?"  
  
Will started at the concerned note in his father's voice. "Yeah," Will replied quickly, "Just thinking for a moment."  
  
"Don't hurt y'self," James muttered amiably through his toast.  
  
His mother glanced disapprovingly at him, and then said, "About what, Will?"  
  
"Oh, I had a dream last night and I'm trying to remember it, that's all." Will said after a pause. He didn't like lying to his family, even if it were necessary.  
  
"What was it about?"  
  
"That's what I'm trying to remember," he said, then he came up with an idea. "Mum, I was wondering. May I go up to Miss Greythorne's manor today? I wanted to ask her if I could have a look around her library."  
  
"That might be nice," said his mother, helping herself to some bacon, "You haven't been up there for a long while, not counting caroling at Christmas, and I suppose it gets lonely up there for Miss Greythorne. The walk up there'll do you some good as well, you look a bit pale."  
  
Let's hope it does, thought Will to himself, it's the only place I know of that can help me.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Is Miss Greythorne in, please?" Will said clearly. Bates, the butler, gave him a slightly crinkled smile, and bowed Will inside. He led Will into the giant entrance hall, where the lady of the house, in a giant overstuffed chair in front of the fire, was reading.  
  
What did I expect, he thought, to see her knitting? He smiled faintly.  
  
"Hello, Will Stanton," she said, smiling. "Your mother called right after you left that you would be up here soon. You wanted to use the library?" The unmoving smile plainly asked the question not being said.  
  
"Yes Ma'am." Will said politely, "I was looking for some information, and nowhere else seems to have very much on the subject I'm looking for."  
  
"Then, we will see what we can do to help, young Will," she said levelly. "You may use any resources you find here."  
  
Will sighed, and said simply, "Thank you."  
  
After only a few minutes explaining his need for help to Miss Greythorne, he had been shown into the library, and had been left to himself in the dusty quiet. He glanced in slight nostalgia at the enamel roses covering the mantle piece. Five years ago his tasks to gather the signs had felt like the weight of the world on his shoulders. Well it was in a way, he reasoned, but they still felt simple compared to this.  
  
He started the search the only way that was logical. He began at the first bookcase, and began reading the titles. There were many that were in unfamiliar languages, but they weren't much of a problem. Miss Greythorne had told him that using Old Speech in the manor wasn't a danger, for the house and grounds were well warded.  
  
So Will checked every book he came to; upon finding any that looked remotely promising he paused his search and placed it on the table. After perusing through the entire stock of books in the room, he turned to the table to find only nine books even mentioning such things as the Ring, Sauron, the Ringwraiths, and the world of Ea. One he dismissed almost at once. Obviously a fantasy writer, making up stories and legend as he went, was no good for anything he was looking for.  
  
He began reading through the remaining eight books, checking and rechecking cross-references as he went. And had to restrain himself from chucking some of them aside in disgust. Each of them only mentioned Middle Earth in passing, dismissing it as just a story. One, titled simply "Other Worlds", looked the most promising. It described the history of Sauron's rise, in addition to the nature of Sauron's control over the Ringwraiths, who they had been during their mortal lives, and how the shadow had deceived them. Just reading about such things made Will uneasy. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled when he thought of it. He shook his head to clear away the feeling he was being watched. It didn't work.  
  
He glanced around the room quickly, his mind harking back to the last time he had been in this room and had found the Rider and Maggie Barnes coming for him. There was no one there, and no sound but the sound of his heart beating. The wraiths must be becoming more aware of him. A week at most, Gandalf had said, until Will would no longer be able to resist the shadow. He must find a way to banish them from the world, and fast.  
  
Will glanced at his watch, and swore. 5:37, he had been here all day, not stopping for lunch, and his parents would be wondering where he was. More importantly, the sun would be going down soon. And Will wasn't about to be caught out after dark. He picked up "Other Worlds", and glanced around the room again, making sure he had put everything back where it belonged. The book he had dismissed without looking at was still on the floor by the table. He gazed at it a moment, picked it up, and went out the door, clicking the lights off as he went. 


	7. The Discovery

Authors' Note: Just a little note. Tolkien passed away in 1973 *bows head in respect*. There's a reference to it in the story and I just want to clarify that. Not sure when the next chapter will be up *Riders work diligently at trying to give authors inspiration*, but until then please review! Thank you to all who have reviewed thus far, we really appreciate it.  
  
Disclaimer: Susan Cooper owns Dark is Rising Sequence places and characters. JRR Tolkien owns the One Ring and the Ringwraiths. Plot belongs to the Authors.  
  
  
  
Will returned home from Greythorne Manor with books in hand. Walking in the door his mum asked, "Did you have a nice time with Miss Greythorne?"  
  
"Yes. She let me borrow some books from her library."  
  
"That's nice of her." His mum gestured to the books nestled in his arm. "I've read that book."  
  
"What?" Will said, his thoughts elsewhere.  
  
"The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien. It used to be a required reading when I went to school," his mum said gesturing to the books.  
  
Will looked at the books and noticed Tolkien wrote both. "Mum. . .this Tolkien, did he write many books?"  
  
"Well you have the first book in his series. He was a well respected professor and even created his own language."  
  
"Was?" Will asked picking up on the past tense.  
  
"He passed away years ago. Anyway enough of this morbid talk, are y' hungry?"  
  
"Not really, I'll just grab something then take it up to my room. I want to do some reading."  
  
In his room Will proceeded to read though the book. With his finger he lightly traced the gold enamored symbol on the binding. Its cover was leather bound and well worn, but the pages were crisp eager to be read. The first section of the book contained information on Hobbits. He put the book down in frustration and raked his fingers through his hair. But something drew him to the book. As the story progressed he stared at it wide eyed. When he read about the ring it seemed to burn. Hanging from the chain around his neck it seemed to exude its power. When he read the Black Speech a chill cascaded down his spine. He could sense the faint presence of the Riders and Ringwraiths almost taunting his efforts. The wound he sustained from the Nazgûl blade turned cold and an icy hand seemed to grip his heart. What once was a sunny afternoon had turned into the cold-heartedness of the night. He must have been reading for hours, yet he still read on entranced by Frodo's journey. At first Frodo was reluctant, but found that he must carry the burden of the Ring.  
  
"I know how you feel. . ." Will whispered forlornly at the book.  
  
Reading on Will nearly dropped the book when he discovered a Nazgûl sword wounded Frodo.  
  
"Of course," Will whispered, "elves."  
  
Hope arose in him and the light burned strong. But what hopes he had were dashed at the prospect of trying to find even one elf on earth. Hope however was one thing he had. Flipping through the pages of the book the words began to disappear before his eyes.  
  
"What the. . ." Will watched in horror as all the pages in the book went from a blank white to being filled with Black Speech.  
  
Evil laughter reverberated in Will's ears. The coldness overtook him and his spirit's shadow was transported to a place of shadows.  
  
Voices echoed around him, "Stanton. . .the ring bearer. . .one of us. . .Will. . ."  
  
"I'm not one of you!" Will shouted.  
  
"You will be. . ." a whimsical voice said. "Your heart will be cloaked in shadows and you'll be ours."  
  
"I will throw off that cloak of shadows and when I do the Light will burn strong."  
  
"So you assume that good will triumph over evil," a menacing voice said, "that the Light will triumph over the Dark. What everyone fails to notice is the work of the shadows. The shadows that the Light cast and that the Darkness is apart of. You're going to suffer, we will see to that in due time. When you are corrupted by the Ring we will utilize its power and bring chaos to both our worlds. You think an elf will save you? The only elves are in Middle Earth and we are the ones who guard the doorway into our world."  
  
Will pulled his spirit back to his room and fell exhausted on his desk to sleep.  
  
In a dark cave between worlds the Riders stood together. The cave shimmered, its walls an iridescent obsidian. It seemed as if the darkness could move creating shape shifting figures that preyed on the light. The dark steeds pawed their hooves restlessly on the ground, anxious to carry their masters into the night. The leader of the Ringwraiths held his sword staring at the inscription. The Black Rider with an inbred hatred for Will walked up to him.  
  
"I have news," he waited for the Ringwraith to acknowledge his presence. Shifting his weight he continued on, "It appears that the Old One Merriman has beseeched the Council for help."  
  
"Did he receive it?" the Ringwraith asked unemotionally.  
  
The Rider grinned, "of course not. The Law of High Magic forbids it."  
  
Underneath the hood of the Ringwraith he could sense a smile of fiendish delight.  
  
"This Will Stanton is also stronger than we ever anticipated," the Black Rider said with disgust. Then with disdain said, "I thought you said your Nazgûl blade was powerful." His blue eyes flashed fiercely in scorn.  
  
"Patience. The darkness is working its way through his system as we speak. The shadow is spreading. I wonder. . .what are you going to do with the youngest of the Old?"  
  
"Kill him," the Rider said quickly.  
  
"Really?" the Ringwraith questioned turning its robed head. "He could be a useful asset. Once he turns, nothing can turn him back. I guarantee he will suffer, but why not make the Light suffer as well?"  
  
"I'll consider it," the Rider said sarcastically. Although apart of him thought it made sense. "What of the Ring?" he abruptly said changing the subject.  
  
"It will be taken to Sauron and when he has it, this Council of Magic will be destroyed. Nothing will stop evil from reigning," the Ringwraith said darkly with anticipation.  
  
"That's what we thought as well," the Rider muttered walking away.  
  
Will woke up early the next morning visibly shaken, but he put a smile on his face so his family wouldn't be suspicious.  
  
"Mum, Miss Greythorne wanted me to come over again so we could discuss the books."  
  
"What books?"  
  
Will paused for a moment in shock, "the books by Tolkien."  
  
"Who's he?" his mum asked oblivious.  
  
"Uh. . .no one mum," Will ran out the door and to the Manor as fast as he could. His mum, though a housewife, had an affinity for books. First the words disappearing, then his mum not knowing. What was going on?  
  
He grasped the brass doorknocker. His knocking only answered back in silence. Trying the brass doorknob the mahogany door slowly swung open. Its metal hinges creaked with age, as it swung open.  
  
"Miss Greythorne?" Will called out. Receiving no answer he called, "Bates." The silence of the house greeted him yet spoke nothing.  
  
Finding matches he shakily created a flame. Lighting a candle he sent a message:  
  
"Bypass the test of distance, delivereth unto you, from Watchman to Light Hawk, beseech your help I do."  
  
Within minutes a fire in the fireplace blazed and Merriman appeared. His face was serious and his eyes seemed tired.  
  
"Merriman I fear something grave has happened," Will said concerned.  
  
"Indeed it has Will," Merriman said. His voice, normally so powerful seemed strained. "I appealed to the Council of High Magic on your behalf." He paused picking and choosing each word, "they could not help your condition because it would violate the laws of high magic. I was told 'the answer will easily be found once you know the manner in which it can be found.'"  
  
"Merriman. . .it's Greythorne Manor!" Will said. "The Council is indeed cryptic in relaying advice."  
  
Merriman's eyes lit up for a brief moment reminding Will of happier times.  
  
"I was here earlier Merriman. Where are Miss Greythorne and Bates?" Will asked genuinely interested in their safety.  
  
"Miss Greythorne has moved to her other estate up north. The protection spell around the manor needs to be reinforced. . .something has weakened it."  
  
"Merriman," Will said solemnly looking at him, "I was reading a book called 'The Fellowship of the Ring.'" Merriman's face twinged noticeably yet Will paid no heed. "I found that an elf could heal the wound of the Nazgûl blade. . .however as I read on the words disappeared and Black Speech appeared." Will showed him the book.  
  
"Will. . .I only see blank white pages," Merriman said wrinkling his brow.  
  
"What?" Will said flabbergasted. "I can see the words here as I am seeing you now."  
  
Merriman nodded somberly to himself. "This could mean that what once was is now changing. If that happens I fear the days of the Light are numbered."  
  
Will looked at Merriman with his penetrating blue eyes, "I must seek the help of an elf, but to do this I'd have to get past the Riders." Feeling very young in the presence of Merriman Will said quietly, "I have a feeling there will be much pain in the end."  
  
Merriman rested a hand on Will's shoulder and urged him to return home. He stood alone in the Manor's Hall. Rays of sunlight shone through the ornately designed windows basking Merriman in sunlight. Although, his form created a long dark shadow which trailed behind him.  
  
The roaring fire from before was reduced to a few glowing embers. Merriman leaned his arm above the mantel. His normally statuesque frame was hunched in a moment of weakness. He had faced difficulties such as this previously, but nothing this personal. Nodding his head in determination the fire roared once again and Greythorne Manor was empty. 


End file.
